


Catch Me In The Dark

by mangochi



Series: Recalibrating [4]
Category: Almost Human
Genre: Angst, Description of Minor Violence, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangochi/pseuds/mangochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Go on without me," Dorian would inevitably say every time they stopped, his voice a rattling, broken whisper in the dark.</p><p>"Shut the hell up," John would tell him, and they kept moving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: And an angsty Christmas for all because I am incapable of dishing out a fluffy holiday fic -facepalms-  
> I’m such a failure, guys, sorry not sorry.

The sewers were dark and dank, and John's lurching footsteps echoed wetly along the dripping tunnels. Their last flare had gone out an hour ago, and Dorian's weakly flickering circuits were the only light source left. John's hand met something slimy and identifiable on the wall, and he flinched slightly before pressing on resolutely. Every now and then, he paused to hitch Dorian's arm higher over his shoulders, tightening his grip around his partner's waist with a dogged determination.

"Go on without me," Dorian would inevitably say every time they stopped, his voice a rattling, broken whisper in the dark.

"Shut the hell up," John would tell him, and they kept moving. The blackness smelled like urine and worse, the occasional clank or muffled scuttle ringing through the walls. They were under an older part of the city now, John hedged, where the maintenance crews didn't bother scoping and the ladders were rusted through. He wondered briefly if he should double back, and decided it'd be worse to try looping around in the dark. They'd come this far, after all.  

"We're lost," Dorian said at length, his legs tripping uselessly in the shallow puddles underfoot as his synapses froze and jerked.

"I know exactly where we are," John growled uncertainly. "Stop talking and- and just get better, you hear?"

Dorian laughed quietly and didn't say anything for a long time. John could only hope that he was doing what he'd been told. To be honest, and he hated himself for even thinking it, he wasn't even sure if Dorian _could_ get better. The dealers had emptied a good two clips into the android's back, and things were sparking and fizzing and broken inside Dorian. Things John didn't know how to fix, and he hated not knowing even more.

There was a muted light ahead, a maintenance light strip that hadn't broken down yet, and he gravitated towards it clumsily. Dorian was no lightweight, and he'd busted something in his synthetic leg when the android had shoved him down the shaft. The blast overhead had blocked the entrance and blown out Dorian's navigation, so they were, put quite plainly in a voice that sounded unnervingly like John's great-grandmother, screwed six and a half ways to hell.

John halted at the light strip, a flickering, greenish thing half covered in mold, and leaned his shoulder against the wall with a groan. Dorian hung against his side, limp and- not useless, John thought fiercely.

“Sorry,” Dorian mumbled, and then he was slipping downward too fast for John to catch. John bit back a curse, turning awkwardly so that Dorian at least came to rest against the wall, and managed to wrestle him into a semi-upright slouch. His leg creaked warningly, and he knelt down with a muttered curse, rubbing at the joint.

There was a long gouge along Dorian’s left cheek from a stray bullet, oozing purple and blue discharge down to his jaw, and John reached out unthinkingly to wipe it away. Dorian caught his hand, fingers grasping at his shakily, and shook his head. “No. M’good.” His voice cracked and dissolved into static briefly, and John swallowed.

He didn’t let go of Dorian’s hand, rubbing his thumb absently over the stiff digits. “You’re cold,” he said quietly. “Is that normal?”

“No.” Dorian tilted his head back against the wall and looked at him. The sickly light made his eyes murky and dark, casting shadows on a face that had never been anything but light. “You think we’re going to make it, John?”

John grunted noncommittally and ran a hand through his hair wearily. “Don’t talk like that. ‘Course we are.”

Dorian squeezed his fingers and John thought he might have smiled, but the darkness hid his expression.

They continued on after a few minutes longer, John bending beneath Dorian’s arm and heaving him upright with a grunt of exertion. They swayed for a moment, Dorian’s hand clutching John’s shirt and sparks of electricity stinging feebly through his jacket.

"Let's play a game," Dorian said unexpectedly, as they stumbled along. John concentrated on walking in a straight line, his leg screaming beneath him. "A question game," Dorian added, when John didn't answer. "We'll go back and forth. You go first."

John snorted. "What a gentleman." He thought for a moment, if only to humor Dorian. "All right....favorite color."

"Green," Dorian said promptly, and John wondered distantly why it wasn't blue. "Who was your first kiss?"

"Damn it, man, you're supposed to warm up to those." John gave a huff of distracted amusement. Something ran lightly across his foot and he hoped sincerely that it was nothing more than an overlarge cockroach. "Uhhhhh, Sandy Goldman," he said vaguely, remembering something of a cool summer day and nervously chapped lips. "In fifth grade. Her dad was an engineer."

"Was she nice?" Dorian asked, sounding genuinely curious, and John glanced at him, hobbling along at John's side, before answering.

"You've had your question. My turn." He scrambled for a likely question. "Why d'you drop your gun up there? You could've taken out the lot of them."

"He was aiming at you," Dorian said plaintively. "The gun was deadweight."

"And now you're screwed up," John snapped and regretted it instantly when Dorian fell silent. "Sorry. Didn't mean that. You're not..." He flailed mentally. Not screwed up. Not deadweight. Not a burden.

_I can still carry you._

"It's okay," Dorian said quietly, but he had always been a rotten liar and he wasn't any better now. "Chocolate or vanilla?"

"Mint."

"That's gross, man."

"Hey, don't knock it. Cats or dogs?"

"Aw, see, that's not even fair. I'm gonna say cats, just to piss you off."

The talking helped, John had to admit. He could pretend they were back in their cruiser on patrol, Dorian's crappy music playing in the background and his mug of coffee in the holder beside him. He could pretend that Dorian was laughing and smiling and unbroken, his skin still smooth where bullet holes now riddled it. Eyes cleared of underground shadows.

"First love?"

"Thought we covered that one already." John shifted his grip on Dorian's wrist, his fingers cramping and his arm straining from the android's weight.

"That was your first kiss. Who was the first girl you ever wanted to take home to your parents and say, this is the one I'm going to marry?" Dorian sounded too serious for such a question, but it was too dark for John to see his expression.

He thought of dark hair and milk chocolate eyes and a smile wide enough to rival the setting sun. His stomach twisted with a lurch that was neither pleasant nor painful, but an uncomfortable gray area. "Pass."

"You can't do that."

"Dorian." Maybe his tone was warning enough, because Dorian didn't press the subject. There was a quiet moment during which John realized he was waiting. "All right, what about you? Any robo chicks out there ever give your carburetor worked up?"

"Pass," Dorian said coolly.

"Hey, now-"

"You changed the rules first. Just playing along."

And John wondered if this was really a game anymore. Somewhere along the line, it felt like something had shifted without him knowing, and damn it if that wasn't the two of them in a nutshell.

"Hey, John?" Dorian said abruptly, and his voice was strange. John halted immediately. "What?" The air was still and damp, and the darkness tasted like lightning and copper. "Can you put me down?"

John hesitated, then towed the two of them over to the wall. Dorian's lights were still glowing, though they were ebbing alarmingly low by now. He sat Dorian down, wincing at the heavy thunk of his locked limbs against the concrete, and squatted down in front of him. "You all right?"

"I think I love you, John." Dorian wasn't looking at him when he spoke, but John wasn't sure of anything anymore in this dark underground hell. "I just wanted you to know."

A heartbeat later.

"I'm sorry."

The lights went out. John forgot how to breathe. "Dorian?"

Silence.

"Dorian?" It was pitch dark, and John was more lost than ever. He shifted forward and reached up blindly, hands sliding over cold synthetic skin. He fumbled at Dorian's face, gripping his jaw between numb fingers. "Goddamn it, Dorian, don't do this." He was starting to panic. He couldn't remember the last time he had cared so much, been so fucking scared. He shook Dorian's shoulders helplessly. "Dorian, please. We're going to make it. I'll carry you out if I have to, so- so just..."

He closed his eyes, and it made little difference. "Hey, it's your turn, Dorian. Ask me....ask me if I love you too, damn it."

Dorian said nothing, and John pressed his mouth shakily to his forehead in what might have been a kiss under the sky. Under the earth, though, there were no eyes to see and no words to call it what it was. "Don't die," he muttered, and told himself that the stinging in his eyes was just sweat, though it was too cold for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but I just realized it was New Year's Eve and, like, THAT'S THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR and I felt really incomplete if I didn't go and update everything (which is a terrible reason, really, don't ever do it).  
> Ahaaaaaa, and so this story is extended by a chapter to wrap things up, though it's really the second part to this chapter.

"I'll be back for you."

He came to his conclusion three minutes ago, tepid water soaking through his pants and cold, sick fear twisting in his chest. John brushed his thumbs roughly over Dorian's cheekbones, cradling his lolling head in his palms. He leaned forward, pressed his forehead against Dorian's, and hesitated, feeling his breath ghost across still lips.

"We'll save that one for later," he whispered, and he took a deep breath.

"Wait for me."

Before he could change his mind, before he could let himself collapse in Dorian's frozen arms and surrender to the teeming darkness, John twisted away and stumbled to his feet. It was pitch dark, Dorian's light extinguished, and he staggered on with a hand pressed to the wall.

The sound of his panting filled the air, harsh and desperate as he went on. He couldn't feel his feet, his leg, his hip had settled into a dull ache that was nothing to the maw in his heart. He couldn't do this, couldn't lose his partner again. Couldn't lose Dorian.

He had two legs this time, he could still walk. He couldn't carry Dorian- he faltered slightly, stumbling over his own feet- he couldn't carry him...but he was going to save him all the same.

The passage twisted and turned, and he kept his hand on the wall, counting the turns. He had to remember the way, had to remember how to get back to Dorian, because Dorian was counting on him. He'd made a promise and he was going to keep it if it killed him- he tripped and fell sideways against the wall, the impact jolting painfully up his shoulder, and he grimaced uncomfortably before pushing on again.

_He raised himself up onto his elbows, coughing up dust and stinking water as the last rumbles of the explosion died away above them. "Dorian?"_

_It was dark, wherever Dorian had shoved them, and wet. Echoes rang oddly here, and purple spots flared blindingly at the edge of his vision. "Dori-"_

_"I'm here," Dorian said, from nearby, but something sounded wrong with his voice._

_John squinted around, cursing the terrible lighting. "Where are you?"_

_"Here." Something nudged awkwardly at his ribs, and he realized belatedly that it was Dorian's foot. "John....I think...I don't think I can move too well. Sorry."_

_"The hell are you sorry for?" John fumbled in his vest pockets, pulling out a flare and holding it up. The light shone cherry red in the gloom, and he stared down at Dorian. "Oh, shit."_

_"That bad?" Dorian asked weakly._

There was another light strip up ahead, and John paused by it to take his bearings. His legs were shaking beneath him, his feet numb where they splashed in the cold water. His prosthetic made a feeble chirp of complaint, and he rested his hand on it wearily, as if trying to soothe the irate systems. Dorian used to do something similar in the car, reaching over without a word and massaging the joint on a bad day. John closed his eyes now and pretended it was Dorian's hand on him now.

_"Should really let me take a look at it for you, John."_

_"Jackass.”_

_A quicksilver smile, a lingering of fingers on his leg. How had he never noticed?_

The air was cold, the water was colder. John went on. Somewhere here, there had to be an exit. His hands scraped over the rough brick walls, searching for the metal chill of a ladder. He listened for an upward draft that indicated a tunnel, vibrations that would mean overhead traffic.

_"We'll find a way out," John swore, balancing unsteadily as Dorian flopped at his side._

_"John," Dorian began._

_"Don't. I'm not leaving you."_

_A pause. "You should," Dorian said softly._

_"Shut it. You don't want to die here, do you?" John took a step forward and Dorian tripped after. There, that wasn't so bad. They could do this._

_"No. No, I don't."_

His foot met the wall before the rest of his body, and then he was falling backwards with a grunt. A dead end? No, no, that was impossible, it couldn’t be-

He rose on his knees, blindly reaching out with throbbing hands.

_“I think I love you, John. I just wanted you to know.”_

A shuddering sigh that wasn’t strong enough to be a sob hissed into the air.

_“I’m sorry.”_

He was slipping sideways, and he didn’t know up from down in the blackness. He thought he felt hands on his face, on his arms, as his eyes closed, but the lights had disappeared and, in the end, it didn’t really matter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Richard Paul is not such an ass. Lol, I have this headcanon that he's a freaking tsundere when it comes to John and whenever John makes fun of him he sulks for an hour and cries on the inside.

He recognized the smell first. It was sharp and cold, the distinctive hardness of hospitals that he’d never really forgotten. Then came the quiet beeping, the gentle brush of cool air moving systematically over his body, the rustle of starched sheets….

John cracked his eyes open, squinted blurrily through his lashes. The room was dimly lit, the windows darkened and the overhead lights at fifteen percent capacity. There was the dark silhouette of a figure slouched in the bedside chair, and John felt his heart leap clumsily in his chest. “Dor...?” he croaked, throat cracking painfully. 

The figure jerked upright with a startled grunt, head swiveling towards John in alarm. “Kennex!”

John faltered, his vision clearing. “Oh," he said wearily.

“Hey, why the long face?” Paul settled back into the chair with a halfhearted smirk, crossing and uncrossing his legs uncomfortably before settling on a nonchalant sprawl. “You’ve had the whole precinct in a tizzy, man.”

John felt his chest tighten dizzyingly. “Don’t…”

“What?”

“Don’t call me ‘man,’ Paul. You don’t like me enough for that.” He closed his eyes, wanting to sink back into the pillows and disappear. If he concentrated, he could shut out the beeping of the machines, the stomach-turning smell of chemicals and-

“Everyone likes you," Paul said offhandedly, and John heard a dull clunk by his head. He opened his eyes warily and glimpsed the vase of brightly colored flowers on the bedside table. "It's from the precinct. Told them flowers weren't really your scene, but..." He scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, figured it was the thought that counted, you know?"

John looked at him, _really_ looked at him for the first time. Paul’s eyes slanted away, and John’s jaw tightened. “What?”

Paul shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and John’s heart fluttered in rising panic. He struggled to sit up, and Paul leaned forward automatically. “Hold up there, Kennex, don’t-”

John’s hand shot out, grabbing at the front of Paul’s shirt. “Tell me," he rasped, voice cracking audibly. “And I swear to God, if you-”

“ _John_ ,” Paul said, somehow managing not to sound like an asshole for once, and it was that sudden change that made John falter and fall back, his fingers slipping numbly from Paul’s shirt. 

"Is it Dorian?" he realized suddenly, glancing around the room wildly. "Where is he? Is he-"

“Kennex, listen to me, damn it,” Paul snapped, a trace of his usual bitchiness returning instantly. John blinked, a spark of annoyance lowering his stress levels slightly. “Your synthetic’s _fine_ ," Paul continued, looking more exasperated than John thought he had any right to be. Then, he realized what the other man had said.

Fine. Fine? The hell did that even mean, _fine?_

John wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing now, but judging by Paul’s satisfied smirk, it probably wasn’t his most stoic. 

“That’s a good look on you,” the other detective remarked. “I should scare the hell out of you more often.”

John couldn’t even bothered to be pissed off. “So where is he?” he demanded, scanning the room as if he’d somehow missed Dorian standing in the corner. “Is he all right? How-”

“Easy there. Your bot’s with Rudy. Running final diagnostics or what have you. In fact, he should be cleared for duty even before _you_ are.” Paul reached out, tapped the empty space under the sheets where John’s prosthetic should be. “You busted yourself up real good down in that cesspit, cowboy.” 

“He’s okay,” John said numbly. He raised a shaky hand, brushed it roughly over his eyes. “He’s okay,” he repeated, almost disbelieving. 

Paul looked at him with a tinge of apprehension, patting his left foot gingerly. “Yeah. You, um. The captain said to pass on that you two did good on your case. With those dealers,” he said, looking as if someone had force-fed him a gallon of blended lemons. “Your synthetic, ahh, _Dorian_ , that is.....well, I gotta say, he’s not that bad a partner.” Paul looked almost pained at his own words for a moment, then had to add, "You never could settle for the norm, could you?"

John eyed him with vague amusement, his mood lifting slightly by Richard Paul, of all people. “I'll take it as a compliment.”

“Yeah, well.” Paul shifted again in his seat, suddenly looking immensely awkward. “I’m going to let you rest now, all right? I was….well, since I don’t think the plan's going to work-” The trilling of a comm cut him off, and his face collapsed in relief. “Thank God,” he mumbled, reaching in his pocket, and John watched bemusedly as he fished out his comm and tapped the screen once with his thumb.

 _“John?”_ came the voice, slightly crackly at the edges, but still undeniably _there_. John felt his heart attempt to evacuate his ribcage.

“Dorian?” he said dumbly. 

Paul stood and shuffled his feet, then placed the unit on the bed next to John's hand, stepping back and crossing his arms self-consciously. “Gonna leave you two alone,” he mumbled. “Rudy said he’d, ah, put him on once diagnostics are over.”

John nodded, not sure if he could bring himself to sleep, and after another lingering moment, Paul nodded back jerkily and left. As soon as the door clicked close behind him, Dorian’s voice returned in a mock whisper, _“Is he gone?”_

John let out a numb laugh, more air than sound. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gone.” He closed his eyes, trying to imagine Dorian sitting next to him instead of his tinny voice coming from the slim comm unit. “You okay?”

 _“I’m fine.”_ The end of his sentence dropped a full octave before swerving back to normal levels, and Dorian made an annoyed sound. _“Mostly. I should be asking about you, John. You can’t be fixed as easily as me.”_

“I’m…” His throat tightened before he could continue, and he swallowed past the growing lump. “I’m gonna be okay. I just-” He couldn’t keep going, and he exhaled shakily. "Damn it, Dorian, I thought I lost you down there. I thought-" _Thought I got my partner killed again._

 _“I know,”_ Dorian said quietly, and John could almost pretend he was in the room. _“I'm sorry you had to see that."_

“You ass. Telling me to leave you behind like that.”

_"It's what you would have done."_

"Well, for future reference, don't ever do what I would do."

 _"I'll keep that in mind."_ Dorian was silent for a long moment, and John was determined to not be the first to speak. Dorian hadn't brought up what he'd said before breaking down, the three little words that John couldn't decide if he wanted to forget he'd ever heard or......or?

 _"Rudy says I’ll be ready to go tomorrow. I’ll come see you,"_ Dorian said, and John forced himself to put the other matter out of his mind. People said all sorts of things under high stress, after all, and Dorian's systems had been pumped full with lead and sewer water. He probably didn't even remember, and if John had overreacted a bit himself.....well, he'd never liked the dark much. It messed him up in ways he didn't like to think about, made him say and think crazy things like wishing his partner was human so he wouldn't think twice about kis-

_"John?"_

“That’d be nice,” John said weakly, struggling to pull himself back together, then huffed in distracted amusement.

_“What?”_

“I was just thinking...I’m gonna have to get Paul a damn fruit basket for this, aren’t I?” He couldn’t even lift his arm to wipe at his eyes, and maybe it was a good thing that Dorian wasn’t there to see him, after all. "I mean, I guess even he can be halfway decent sometimes."

 _“Well.”_ He could sense Dorian’s good humor even through the phone line. _“I suppose so."_

A few seconds of silence. John opened his eyes and stared up at the white ceiling, waiting. _“John, you still there?”_

“I am.”

_“I heard you. At the end.”_

His heart was pounding again, flustered and panicking in his chest. “Yeah?”

 _"Yeah."_ He could hear Dorian's quiet exhales, something the android did even though he didn't strictly need to breathe. _"John, I-"_

"The nurse is coming in," John lied loudly and badly, and he hoped Dorian wasn't good enough to pick out his vitals across the damn phone line. "I'll see you tomorrow."

_"Wait, John-"_

John hung up, and he stared at the ceiling until the nurse really did come in, twenty-five minutes later. "Goddamn it," he said aloud then, ignoring her quizzical glance. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bahhhhhh haha this was originally going to be three chapters, but it'll be extended just a teensy bit.


	4. Chapter 4

He knocked before he entered, because there wasn’t a buzzer. It was such a Dorian thing to do that John couldn’t help but be amused, despite the nervous jitters still prickling across his skin.

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

The door slid open, and Dorian stepped in sheepishly. “Thought it’d be polite.” He was dressed in his normal clothing, skin patched up and looking so completely okay that John thought he’d explode with relief. Rudy was hovering behind him, bobbing an anxious nod over Dorian’s shoulder.

“‘Lo there, John. I, ah. I’ll give you two some time.” Rudy glanced around nervously. “Don’t like hospitals much.”

“Yeah, well, I’m right there with you.” John shifted, trying to adjust the pillow bunched up behind him. “Nice seeing you, Rudy.”

The doctor gave another twitchy nod and stepped back, closing the door behind him and leaving the two of them alone. Dorian was avoiding John’s gaze, hands moving at his sides uncertainly. “I’m sorry if I….upset you yesterday.”

John snorted, more out of reflex than true impatience. “I’m not upset.”

“Okay.” Dorian was still watching him warily, as if afraid that if he moved too quickly, he’d scare John off. Fat chance of that happening, John thought gloomily. Not with him trussed up to the bed like this.

Like a damn Thanksgiving turkey.

Dorian edged closer to the bed, playing with the edges of his jacket nervously, and John found himself being infected with his anxiety. He shifted in his bed, wriggling the pillow around in the small of his back, then sagged back in resignation.

“All right, out with it.”

Dorian blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “What?”

“You know.” _He_ wasn’t going to say it, John was determined. He jutted out his chin, glaring at Dorian with a mixture of defiance and flat out nerves, and waited for the blow to fall. Dorian was starting to look panicked, and it was such a….weird expression on him that John faltered a little, his mouth twitching as if unsure to scowl or smile.

“I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say,” Dorian confessed, his fingers twisting at his pockets. “It’s very inappropriate.”

“I don’t mind inappropriate,” John said unthinkingly, and he did scowl this time, feeling the back of his neck burning in mortification. Did he just say that? Idiot.

Dorian looked at him oddly, peeking upwards like he’d done something wrong. Something was weird, John realized, and it wasn’t just the obnoxiously large elephant in the room. Dorian looked almost twitchy, shifting his feet around as he put his hands in his pockets and glanced around the room. In fact, it was almost like….

“You idiot,” John said in exasperation. “You’re running low again.”

“Didn’t want to charge,” Dorian muttered, almost petulantly.

“Why not?”

Dorian almost looked embarrassed, and John filed away the image to consider later. For now, he concentrated on pushing back his own self-consciousness, squinting at Dorian inquiringly when the android took a moment too long to answer.

“When I charge….I sort through my memory files during the last period of activity. Make back-ups in the police archives,” Dorian said reluctantly. “But I didn’t want to.”

John stared at him, feeling like he was missing out on something crucial and extremely obvious. “Why not?” he repeated, slower this time.

Dorian considered the floor between his feet very seriously, mumbling something under his breath that John couldn’t make out.

“What was that?” he asked, arching a questioning eyebrow.

“John-”

John pounded his fist in frustration, but the effect was somewhat lost amidst the padded mattress and sheets. “Damn it, Dorian, if you’ve got something to say, you better damn well say it to my face. Or I swear, I’ll get over there _somehow_ and tear you a-”

“Didn’t want other people to know,” Dorian muttered, his voice just barely loud enough to carry over John’s. John blinked, and Dorian looked up at him, his eyes saying a hundred things that his words couldn’t seem to.

“I’m capable of being selfish, you know,” Dorian told him dryly. “Especially when it pertains to you.” He finally moved from the doorway, coming to sit in the bedside chair. John felt a thrill of nerves when Dorian met his eyes again, his expression carefully arranged into a deliberate guardedness that made John want to punch it away.

“I meant what I said,” Dorian said quietly. “I don’t know how not to. And it’s _mine_.” His hand brushed against John’s above the sheets, and John couldn’t bring himself to move away as Dorian tentatively took his fingers in a loose clasp. Giving him room to break away.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Dorian said, a hint of anxiety entering his voice. “You’re so...so good, John, I don’t think you see that. I was made to feel, to love, and how the hell I was supposed to resist you, I don’t know. And I do love you.” He faltered slightly towards the end, words dropping off in uncertain silence, and John swallowed wordlessly.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said eventually, when the moment had become a heavy lull above them. “I understand that you probably don’t feel the same-”

 _Whoa now_ , John’s mind automatically stuttered, though his body remained uselessly paralyzed.

“-can apply for a transfer. Hopefully I won’t be decommissioned again-”

“Dorian-” he managed to get out.

Dorian made to move his hand away, and John tightened his hold desperately, clinging on with all the strength he could muster. “Damn it, _wait_ ,” he said hoarsely, relieved that his voice hadn’t broken, at least.

“John, let go,” Dorian said, but he didn’t move and John could’ve sworn he felt the android squeeze back.

“You talk too much,” John blurted, almost completely certain that he hadn’t meant to say that. _To hell with it_. “You talk, and you say...and you _say_ things, and then you can’t be bothered to wait for an answer?” He was slowly losing the feeling in his hand, but Dorian’s fingers were warm against his, and he decided that he could hold on a little longer.

“I don’t want you to,” Dorian started, then closed his mouth when John shot him a warning glare.

“I’ve never done this before either,” John went on, hesitation dragging at his words but sheer determination to see this through urging him on. “Not with…”

“A synthetic,” Dorian said bluntly. Something in his expression dimmed and began to close, and John growled frustratedly.

“Shut up!” he barked, releasing Dorian’s hand and trying to heave himself bodily off the bed in his irritation. “You’re an idiot-”

“John, calm down.” Dorian stood, flustered, trying to press John back to the bed without touching him, and waving his hands around helplessly in general.

“So _stupid_ -”

“I know,” Dorian said exasperatedly, catching John’s arms and holding him down. John’s clumsy swing caught him in the jaw, but the android barely flinched and John was left with a throbbing hand.

“ _You don’t know_ ,” John raged, wishing he had his leg on if only to give his partner a good kick. “You don’t know how it felt, seeing you down there, seeing you shot up and _dead_ , for all I knew, and knowing that the last thing you said was some sort of half-assed confession- you have _some nerve_ , coming in here and dumping your feelings and trying to leave- I- you-” John spluttered to a red-faced halt, panting and scowling and hating the prickling behind his eyes.

“I hate you,” he said with relish, but that wasn’t what he meant, and it didn’t seem to be what Dorian heard.

The android was staring down at him, mouth slightly slack and his circuitry flickering warily on his cheek. “Really?” he asked quietly, his eyes blown wide and disbelieving.

John swallowed stickily, forcing past the lump in his throat. His eyes were aching, his knuckles already reddening where he’d clipped Dorian’s face. “Yeah,” he said shakily. He couldn’t remember what he was agreeing to anymore, but somehow it didn’t seem important, because Dorian’s hand was on his arm, and he was _alive_ , standing right there in front of John as if the sewers had never happened.

“Hey,” Dorian said, his voice soft, and John glanced up at him cautiously. Dorian’s hand moved hesitantly to his shoulder, pausing there for a considering moment before sliding up to press lightly against the side of John’s face. “I….I never did finish my turn, did I?”

John wanted to laugh, and maybe something else as well, and he felt Dorian’s palm against his skin as his mouth twitched in an aborted motion. “No, you didn’t,” he said, the words coming easily to him now. “But you don’t have to ask, you know.”

“Well.” Dorian’s thumb brushed against the corner of his lips, lingering a second longer than necessary. “It never hurts to be sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I can not believe how long it took me to get around to this, so sorryyyyyyyyy. Ahhhhhhhh.


End file.
